


And It Hurts Like It Should

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Trespasser, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights, Dorian wants the Iron Bull's hand around his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It Hurts Like It Should

**Author's Note:**

> This fic references something that happens in [What Makes You Whole](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3840043), but you can read it without.
> 
> This story contains kink which is fundamentally unsafe, please do not use this story as reference for your own sexual activities, make sure you take risks into account etc. Also, said kink is not explicitly negotiated within the story, but it is implied that it has been negotiated before.

**“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.” - Margaret Atwood**

The decadence of Orlais is weeks behind them, but Dorian's complaints about the weeks of rough living are mostly for something to do on long treks, and the Chargers have even taken to prompting him to fill the silence with his entertaining brand of grousing.

“Can't we find more shelter? You know how the wind gets,” Dorian grumbles.

Krem snorts a laugh and claps Dorian hard on the back, and Butcher drags a heavy pot towards the fire being stoked to life. It's no easy thing to set up a camp for over fifty and then feed them, but it only takes a few hours to get sorted. Dorian does more than his share, putting up tents and lighting torches with magic to those amenable – more and more of the boys, the Bull notices, as the battle between wariness and convenience is slowly won – and their camp takes shape.

“You good?” the Bull asks, holding out a lyrium potion to Dorian as he comes to stand with him. Dorian waves him off.

“I'm good.”

Their rations are holding up, so every day they eat well, there's plenty of drink, and between the furs and the body heat, Dorian barely gets a chance to complain about the cold nights. There's luxury, too, in the time they have together; the Bull is under no illusion that Dorian can stay forever, as Tevinter beckons him home, but there's no sense of urgency yet.

“Diamondback, Chief? Sparkler?” Rocky says.

“Varric will be thrilled that stuck,” Dorian sighs, and the Bull puts his hand on the small of Dorian's back and steers him in Rocky's wake.

So they take jobs that keep the Chargers in coin, the occasional task at the behest of the Inquisition, and spend every night in each other's company. Nevarran nights are mild this time of year, and they retire early from what turns out to be a brutal game of diamondback before they lose too much coin.

“Grim cheats,” Dorian says, unbuckling his belt in the privacy of their tent.

The Bull laughs as he divests himself of harness and brace, then boots and belt. “You'd know.”

“Nobody calls _him_ on it.”

“He's a better cheat than you. Subtle. You're flashy.”

“Of course I am!”

“I like flashy,” the Bull says, as he pulls a nearly undressed Dorian down onto the furs and bedroll spread across the floor of the tent. “Flashy is my favourite.”

“Oh, I know.” Dorian eases into the Bull's lap, wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him. It's become routine now, to take Dorian in his arms and kiss him, to hold him, fuck him and fall asleep with him, and shit if that isn't amazing, to have that certainty. At least for now.

“Fuck me tonight,” Dorian breathes, as he slides off the Bull's lap and leads him down onto the furs, ridding themselves of the last of their clothing as they go, so they're naked in the lamp-warmed tent.

“Yeah,” the Bull agrees, slides his hand up the inside of Dorian's thigh, into the crease of leg and hip, and the patch of dark curls around his cock.

It's languid, and could so easily turn into something that lasts all night if they had the guarantee of peace and maybe a proper bed and a door that locks, but they've both honed a skill for a meeting of indulgence and efficiency. Dorian demands kisses as his hands explore the Bull's neck, his shoulders, and the Bull opens Dorian up with oil. One finger, until he's loose enough for two, then he presses against his prostate and has Dorian cursing and writhing.

“You're so pretty,” the Bull tells him. “So good and eager.”

“It's been too long,” Dorian groans, and spreads his legs wider. “Too long since your cock was in me.”

“Not even a week.”

“Precisely, much too long.”

Laughing, the Bull pushes three fingers into him. Dorian gasps and pulls him down for a kiss, teeth catching at his bottom lip and tugging, before he licks into his mouth and keeps the Bull in place with insistent fingertips at the base of his skull.

When the Bull slides his cock into him, Dorian wraps his legs around his waist and urges him on, groaning where their mouths slide against each other.

“Yes,” he whispers, “yes.”

The Bull pushes in slowly, lets Dorian's body adjust to the stretch, presses forward gradually while Dorian groans, until their bodies sit flush. He crowds Dorian's body with his own, keeps himself close so he can keep kissing him, anticipating what Dorian wants before he has to ask for it.

“You feel good, Dorian?”

“Yes, oh, move!”

He slides his hips back until he's almost all the way out, and then pushes back in just as slowly. Dorian shudders with pleasure and frustration in equal measure.

The Bull's hand slides up Dorian's sternum and around his neck, only the gentlest pressure of his massive thumb stroking over the notch of his throat. He leans down and kisses him like that, holding his neck in one massive hand, hips pressing his thighs apart and cock stretching him wide as he fucks him leisurely.

Dorian covers what he can of the Bull's hand with his own, holds his arm in place there as the Bull rocks his hips forwards and back. When he squeezes, the Bull lets Dorian puppet his fingers to apply the slightest of pressure against his neck.

“Like that, Bull,” he groans. The Bull hums, adjusts his weight between the arm on Dorian's chest and the one braced on the bedroll, knows how Dorian likes to be held down and does it. Dorian lets out a belly-deep groan at the pressure on his chest.

“I've got you,” the Bull tells him, squeezes slowly until Dorian's body gives a tell-tale shudder and he bears down against the Bull's cock. He eases the hold off, strokes his thumb from under Dorian's chin down his throat.

“Oh, Bull,” Dorian sighs, grips his forearm and his hand tighter, but his time the Bull resists the motion, keeps his hand loose around Dorian's throat. “ _Bull_.”

“Dorian?” the Bull prompts. If this is heading where he suspects, he needs Dorian to use his words. He brings the movement of his hips to a slow stop, and Dorian's frustrated wiggle below him makes him chuckle. Eventually Dorian sighs and relents.

“Won't you hold me tighter?”

There's something so _delicate_ about how he asks, the Bull could almost laugh again. He dips his mouth down and kisses him instead; he doesn't want it to even cross Dorian's mind that he might be laughing at the request.

“Yeah, kadan.”

Dorian squeezes his hand at the Bull's elbow, smiles up at him. His moustache is cute when it's crooked, his lips swollen with kisses, and the Bull feels like the luckiest man alive to be shown that without any shame.

“If you can't speak, how you going to let me know when to stop?”

Dorian releases the Bull's elbow—though his other hand stays holding the Bull's around his neck—and ghosts his fingers down his side until he finds an old scar in the shape of his hand, and lines his fingers up to the long-healed shape of it.

“I'll keep you informed, amatus.”

The Bull smiles, kisses the corner of his mouth, and then starts to fuck him again, slow and deliberate. As Dorian groans and the Bull slides his cock in, he squeezes Dorian's neck. Dorian's body clenches around him and his muscles go taught, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he squeezes his fingers over the Bull's. He listens to Dorian's slightly laboured breaths, alert to the slightest change, and keeps the motion of his hips steady.

When he releases the pressure, Dorian draws in a large breath, hips thrusting up and back arching with the rush of sensation.

“Oh, oh!”

“You okay?”

“Yes, again?”

Against the Bull's stomach, he can feel Dorian's cock is hard and leaking. He squeezes Dorian's neck again, and wonders how long it would take to make him spend like this. He squeezes until Dorian's breath is noticeably hard to draw, fighting against the pressure, and Dorian gasps with each inward thrust of his cock.

“Kaffas!” Dorian gasps, when the Bull releases him again. He strokes his thumb over the notch of his throat, dips his head to give him a reassuring kiss.

“Still with me?”

“Tighter, Bull. Make me come.”

It's a matter of watching closely to how Dorian's body reacts, listening to the sounds he makes as he fucks him. He's close, and the Bull has always had a pretty simple time of being able to make Dorian come just from fucking him—there's a distant ache in his chest when he remembers a time that Dorian didn't even know that was _possible_ —so he waits until he's nearing the edge and squeezes his hand around Dorian's neck, hard.

Dorian's breath cuts off, and his eyes go wide. His muscles spasm around the Bull's cock, and his fingers close around the Bull's wrist.

The Bull looks for a signal as he chokes him, for any hint of an order to stop, but Dorian's mouth only opens with a silent, cut-off gasp and his eyes roll back and close. The Bull thrusts his hips and counts, knows how much Dorian can take, how much he's willing to push.

The seconds stretch, and Dorian thrums as each one passes, lips quivering as he fights to breathe.

The Bull releases his hand one last time, and immediately Dorian gulps down a lungful of air and shudders headlong into climax, emptying messily onto their bellies. He gasps and groans so beautifully all the while, pinned by the Bull's arm and his hips, thrashing regardless of the restraint.

Dorian manages more sound after a few breaths, groans as his hips thrust hard against the Bull's body seizing with sensation. It's enough to finish the Bull off too, and he comes inside Doian, grunting with the effort of keeping his eye open so he can watch Dorian in the finale of his orgasm.

The Bull's thrusts become more gentle as Dorian's release tapers off, fingers delicate on his neck again. He might not even bruise, and he smiles to think Dorian will probably be disappointed if he doesn't. He kisses along Dorian's jaw to his mouth, and coaxes him into response.

“Back with me, big guy?”

“I never left, amatus,” Dorian murmurs, and peers at him through narrowed eyes. “Did you finish?”

“That good, huh?” The Bull pulls away so he can clean them both off. “Yeah, I did, inside you.”

“Oh good,” Dorian sighs, and lets the Bull manhandle him into a more practical sleeping position, rearranging the furs and bedroll around them.

“You like that, don't you?”

“You know it's my favourite,” he mumbles, inelegant and adorable as he doesn't even fight to stay awake. The Bull hums with amusement as Dorian stretches like a cat and then drapes himself over his chest, settling in for the night; together, for as long as they can be.

**“Kiss the mouth which tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.” - Galway Kinnell**

 

** **

**Author's Note:**

> Koutou did some [amazing fanart](https://uotuok.tumblr.com/post/164890718029/and-it-hurts-like-it-should-by-jasper) for this story!


End file.
